Yesterday I had my annual exam. I don’t know about you, ladies, but I feel like I have to give my vagina Stuart Smalley daily affirmation pep talk before saddling into the stirrups. I told my vagina, “You’re good enough. You’re smart enough. And gosh darn it–people like you! Especially the 2000 Seattle Mariners line-up. And especially A-Rod, even though, giiiirl, you know he was more like A MINUS ROD!” Yeah, sometimes I talk to my vagina like I’m Rosie Perez. Trust.
So the exam itself was uneventful though peppered with awkward questions about what I did this summer while a METAL SPECULUM WAS INSIDE ME. I didn’t go to medical school, but swabbing my goodies makes it hard to share anecdotes about the tea cups! And the long line to see Mickey Mouse!
After the doctor was done, she asked if I had any questions and then she gave me some information on HPV. She asked if I wanted to have the lab perform the additional tests. While I was telling her that I didn’t think I would need it, she paused and turned to her clipboard. “How old are you?” She asked.
“Oh!” she squealed. “Nevermind! We don’t even screen if you’re under 30. Sorry about that! For some reason, I thought you were 30. I don’t know what made me think that you were older!”
Oh, could it be that you were staring at my old vagina for 20 minutes? Apparently, a vagina that is five years older than the rest of my body? Being mistaken as being older is only a compliment if you’re at Chuck E. Cheese and the big gray mouse asks if you’re eight or really eight and a half because you’re so mature for your age! I’ve never thought of my vagina as mature, Millennial if anything, but not five years my senior.
Where was this information when I was 16 and dying to go into bars? I could have said, “I’m underage but my vagina is legal!” Woot! And when I’m 55, I can start eating off the seniors-only menu and say, “I’m only 55, but can my vagina eat here? A medical professional said it was 60.”
But then as I was contemplating the idea of bebe botox (because you can’t really do any exercises for the the outer layers–yes, kegels help but they’re for the muscles and I have no plans of going on tour with a Bangkok-style ping pong show), I decided to turn this lemon into lemonade.
Or rather, a blueberry lemon drop. Two of them.